


The Chosen Ones

by adversarya



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Ghosts, Gen, I take comfort in this, Incest-Free Zone, Slow Burn, no matter what there are worse ships sailing the Game of Thrones sea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5585125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adversarya/pseuds/adversarya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How could she possibly suspect the truth? He’s just a monster to her, after all. To all of them. Because that’s what he needs to be. He knows what’s at stake, he’s known for as long as he can remember, even seen it himself, but then she came along—and he couldn’t help himself. He was selfish, he was foolish, and his father paid the price..." </p>
<p>A legendary Sith comes out of the shadows after foreseeing his demise. Across the galaxy, Jedi Luke Skywalker has visions of his own. Nearly 30 years later, a scavenger from Jakku crosses paths with the commander of the First Order, and nothing is quite what it appears to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in the dark (for a while now) (PROLOGUE)

**Author's Note:**

> I have only seen The Force Awakens once, over a week ago now, and I don't own the novelization or any other supplemental materials, so things might not fit perfectly with canon events. This fic is undoubtedly AU anyway, so I'm not terribly concerned. This fic was inspired by G. K. Chesterton's Heretics, a brilliant little book written 110 years ago, so every chapter will begin with a quote from said book. (For the sake of my own productivity, I really should avoid reading philosophy, because apparently it results in me writing fanfiction. Oh well. So it goes.) 
> 
> Enjoy!

_“The forlorn hope is not only a real hope, it is the only real hope of mankind."  
_ -G. K. Chesterton

For over a century he pulled strings from the shadows and watched his puppets dance. He found he quite liked it that way. It was easier, better. They never suspected a thing—he was supposed to be dead, after all—meaning they never resisted, or worse, rebelled. In sum, more reward, less risk. What could be better than that?

But then the visions began. Visions of his demise, a feeling of utter defeat unlike anything he had ever felt before, and a pair of dark brown eyes, triumphant. The eyes of a girl, a girl who more often than not starred in the visions that plagued him. A girl, he quickly discovered, not yet born. Not for many years yet, as her mother was not yet born, either, and her father a young boy—a young boy strong in the Force, but a child nonetheless.

If it was just a matter of killing the boy, things would be incredibly simple. He could easily manage it without leaving the comfort of the shadows that sustained him.

Unfortunately, it was not so simple. The will of the Force could not be denied, only corrupted. He knew this. He was the master of corruption. If he killed the boy, another would take his place. If he killed the girl, another would take hers. If he let them live long enough for the child to be born, and then killed it (and them too, probably), another would come along in time, and there was no guarantee that he would be so fortunate as to be forewarned. 

No, his knowledge was his advantage, and he was far too clever to destroy his advantage. That was the sort of foolish thing his many puppets over the years would have done—indeed, many of them had—and that was why they were all dead while he was still alive and well.

So he waited. He had knowledge, and he had time. Only fools rushed in, and he was no fool. He waited for the girl’s birth—into a relatively wealthy family of merchants—before starting to make any plans. She was also strong in the Force, but so entrenched in the Light that it caused him physical pain. He wouldn’t say incorruptible, because, as far as he was concerned, there was no such thing—but risky, and difficult. He knew it would be in his best interest to keep them apart, if possible, and quickly decided that the boy would be a much better target for his efforts.

While the girl was remarkably Force-sensitive, her parents were feeble-minded fools, easily manipulated into dropping off their only child on the backwater planet Jakku. If their ship happened to be raided by pirates and they happened to be killed after foolishly trying to fight off their captors, well, all the better for him. Her parents were also only children, and her grandparents all long dead, so there were no relatives left to come looking. The girl would survive on Jakku—it was in his best interest that she lived, after all—but little else.

Then, of course, there was the boy—an adolescent, by now. Incredibly strong in the Force, angry, unstable. In a word, perfect. But the whole matter was too delicate to entrust to even the most obedient of puppets. No, he would have to do this himself.

So Darth Plagueis the Wise stepped out of the shadows for the first time in over a century—but not before giving himself a new name: Snoke.

 

Luke often felt the presence of the ghosts—of Obi-Wan, Yoda, even his father—but ever since Ben was born, he had felt a tugging at the edge of his consciousness, and he knew. He knew they were calling to him. But Luke was so afraid of what they would say that he avoided them, avoided reaching a true meditative state where they could reach him, for months, nearly a year, until he simply couldn’t deny them any longer.

It was his father.

Luke was mildly surprised. He had seen his father’s ghost on Endor, but never before had he truly contacted Luke, especially on his own. It had been many years, and Luke was struck again by not just his father’s resemblance to him, but to Ben.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Anakin’s words could have been accusing, but his tone was not.

“Yes.” Luke saw no point in lying.

“I can sense your fear,” Anakin said.

“I am afraid,” Luke replied.

“You should not be.”

“Oh?” Luke was flooded with relief.

“It will do you no good—it will do _him_ no good.” Fear crashed over Luke once more.

“Then what will?” Luke wondered.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Anakin said.

Luke only nodded. Anakin’s expression suddenly turned remorseful, though his gaze remained determined. “I failed you, Luke. I failed all of you, and I am so sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Luke asked. 

“They called me the Chosen One. I’m sure you’ve heard the same?”

“Well, once or twice…”

“And they were right. And wrong. There was never a Chosen _One_ , Luke—it was always meant to be two.”

“You and me?”

“Yes. You were supposed to bring balance to the Force. I was supposed to destroy the Sith—and I failed. The Force will never be in balance so long as the Sith exist.”

“But Palpatine—"

“Was a puppet, Luke. Just as I was his,” Anakin would not deny the truth, though it caused him immeasurable shame. “Search your feelings, Luke. You know I speak the truth. You feel the darkness rising. You know it never went away.”

“Then who? 

“I can’t tell you who, Luke. Or what, or when,” Anakin admitted.

“Then what can you tell me?” Luke asked. He was beginning to feel as if he were speaking with Yoda. 

“There is a reason, Luke, why there must be two. To be destructive is to destroy oneself—and removing the Sith is destructive, though it is for the greater good. No one being could destroy the Sith and still be able to bring balance to the Force. It requires purity of character, something that must be sacrificed in destroying the Sith. I failed to destroy the Sith, so it is not in your power to restore balance to the Force.”

“So then I must destroy the Sith.”

“No, Luke. It is not in your character. You know who it must be.”

“Ben? No!” Luke cried.

“He carries a terrible burden—but it is his to bear. You cannot carry it for him. You can only help him. Train him, prepare him for what is to come. He can’t lose himself, like I did. He will have to do terrible, terrible things. He will have to go into the very heart of darkness without becoming part of it.” 

Luke nodded, though he was incredibly displeased. “And if he manages all this, then who is the second? Who will bring balance to the Force?”

“She’s not born yet.” 

“And, let me guess, you can’t tell me anything else?”

“That would be correct,” Anakin confirmed. “But look within, Luke, and you will find you already know far more than I could ever tell you.”


	2. the world that we live in (I feel myself get tired)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thirty years later, the story truly begins.

_"The strong cannot be brave. Only the weak can be brave; and yet again, in practice, only those who can be brave can be trusted, in times of doubt, to be strong."  
-_ G. K. Chesterton 

 

Ben throws off his mask and slumps into a chair the moment he gets back to his quarters. So much has happened in the past few days he hasn’t even really absorbed it all yet, and he really doesn’t want to. But there is finally a moment of quiet, a lull, and there is no avoiding it any longer. He pulls off his boots, his cape, his armor. It is all suffocating him, crushing him. He’s lighter without it, but he still feels like he can’t breathe.

 _I can’t do this_. _I can’t_ —he stops there. He cannot give up. He cannot have the past thirteen years mean nothing, because that would mean—but no, he can’t go there either. Except for the small part of his mind so firmly sealed and carefully hidden away that even Snoke can’t reach it—if only because he can’t possibly know it exists—he cannot afford to be Ben. He is _Kylo Ren_. And Kylo Ren wouldn’t feel half these things he wants to feel, and he certainly wouldn’t think half the thoughts that threaten to bubble to the surface. No matter how paranoid, he knows Snoke cannot possibly be watching him all the time—but at any moment he _could_ be, and a moment would be enough to destroy everything. So _Kylo_ lets himself feel the one emotion he is allowed to feel, the one emotion that is safe: rage. Visceral, ineloquent rage. The only emotion that cannot betray him, even if it does threaten to destroy anything and everything within reach of his saber. He _hates_ it, acting like a mercurial child armed with a deadly weapon, but it is the only outlet he has, the only one he can afford. And it makes people fear him—a decided advantage in the First Order, where fear and respect are synonymous.

In the depths of this violent rage is the one time he allows himself to truly retreat to that small part of his mind, allows himself to think those dangerous thoughts that he suppresses the rest of the time. He figures that, even if Snoke is listening in, his rage will be enough to conceal his thoughts. At least, that is the hope. It is still a risk, but he has no choice. He can’t deny himself completely, not without losing himself—and that would mean defeat, just as much as being discovered.

 _Just as you almost were_ , he can’t help but think. The young scavenger had pushed her way into his mind, completely untrained, and in his shock he had nearly slipped, nearly let down a barrier he had kept up for over a decade. She was a member of the Resistance, but she would have destroyed _everything_ if she had seen, though of course she had no way of knowing. How could she possibly suspect the truth? He’s just a monster to her, after all. To _all_ of them. Because that’s what he needs to be. He _knows_ what’s at stake, he’s known for as long as he can remember, even seen it himself, but then she came along—and he couldn’t help himself. He was selfish, he was foolish, and his father paid the price. It would have been best to have killed her on Takodana. When he couldn’t bring himself to do that he should have left her there to find the droid, but the thought of leaving her behind was unbearable to him, so he took her. He was such an _idiot_.

She was never supposed to be real.

Force visions sometimes come to him in his sleep, but most of what he sees when he closes his eyes is the product of his own imagination—almost always nightmares. But there are the dreams. Or what he, until very recently, had thought were dreams. They only occur once in a rare while, and they seemed too impossible to be anything __but dreams, so he allowed them. His one indulgence, his tiny flicker of light in the dark ocean that was his life: dreams of a child, a girl who called him _papa_. A girl with his eyes and his curls and, unfortunately, his ears. Sometimes she had siblings, of varying age and appearances, sometimes she didn’t. But the girl was always the same. Her age varied, but that was all. Still, he thought it just a dream. His subconscious trying to provide him some feeble comfort.

But then he saw her, the scavenger from Jakku, and although he had never met her before, he knew her face—parts of it, at least. Her nose, her stubborn chin. The particular shade of her hair. _No_ , _it couldn’t be._

One thing both the Light and the Dark had taught him was that there was no such thing as coincidence. If he had any doubts, though, they disappeared as soon as her eyes met his. 

 _It is._  

There was no recognition on her end—hardly surprising, as he wore a mask and she, quite obviously, had no Force training—only fear and disgust, which _killed_ him. It was entirely impersonal. Somehow, even hatred would have been preferable. 

So he interrogated her and took off his mask. He had no good reason to, and he shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have done half the things he’s done these past few weeks, and maybe, if he hadn’t, his father would still be alive. But he did, because he wanted, _needed_ her to see his face, and her taunts gave him the perfect opportunity.

There was no recognition, but there was _something_. Attraction, yes (he couldn’t help but feel a little smug about that), but it went beyond that.

 _“I feel it too,”_ he had said at the time, and he meant it, truly meant it, unlike almost everything else he said on a daily basis. For a few moments, at least, she didn’t look at him like a monster—and that was it. That was what he risked _everything_ for. And it felt good, like he could almost forget. Almost.

Greed builds upon itself, and he was drunk on it. It made him sloppy. He did what he was supposed to do, pushed his way into her mind, but then she pushed back. He stumbled, and she snuck in, and not just into his surface thoughts, either. She came terrifyingly close to reaching that deepest corner of his mind, exposing the truth he had concealed, even from Snoke, for more than a decade.

Or had he? The whole disaster was a reminder of his greatest fear, barely suppressed in that hidden corner of his mind, and getting harder and harder to contain: that Snoke _does_ know, that it’s all a sham. That one day Snoke will get bored of playing with his food and kill him, and the last thing he will know is how completely he has failed.

After all, how could he possibly succeed where Anakin Skywalker had failed? He was powerful in the Force, but his grandfather had had the highest midi-chlorian count ever recorded. Palpatine had been incredibly powerful, but Snoke was even more so. If Anakin Skywalker had barely managed to defeat the puppet, how could he possibly defeat the puppeteer?

And then there was his father. _Was_ , because he _murdered_ him. But he can’t think about that—not now. If he goes down that road, he won’t be able to control himself. And he _really_ can’t afford that. If there’s one thing he’s learned from all of this, it’s that he’s been slipping, growing complacent. He can’t start thinking about what he _wants_ , because it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t deserve goodness, or happiness, or peace, not after everything he’s done. No amount of penance could possibly atone for the crimes he has committed. The only thing he can do is make sure it was not all in vain.

He must let go of the scavenger, of the impossible visions that he had foolishly misidentified as dreams (though he still doesn’t understand why the Force would torment him so).

With newfound resolve, Kylo Ren empties his mind of such traitorous thoughts before letting his rage dissipate. He deactivates his saber and returns it to his belt. His arms are quite sore. The air is full of dust and ash and bits of feather.

Not a single thing had been spared. Not the chairs or the desk or the walls or the floor or even his bed—unfortunate, considering how incredibly tired he suddenly feels. He steps out into the corridor and orders the first trooper he sees to clean up the mess. 

He feels the trooper’s fear, but also their annoyance. It’s the third time this week, and he knows he can’t afford to continue like this. Snoke doesn’t mind his mercurial behavior (in fact, he is quite certain Snoke actually likes it), but Kylo knows he’s pushing the boundary between mercurial and juvenile. But pushing isn’t crossing. All he has to do is step back. In terms of the mission, in terms of his position within the First Order, he has not done any damage he cannot undo, though he came very close. 

 _Never again_ , he promises himself.

He has learnt his lesson. 

 

 

When Rey sees Luke Skywalker she’s disappointed. _This_ was the legendary Luke Skywalker? This old man with such sorrow in his eyes? Rey can’t help but think of another pair of much darker eyes filled with a similar sadness, a face that seems to enter her thoughts more and more the more she tries not to think of it.

For a legend larger than life, he is disappointingly small, even in stature. She can tell he is no more than a few inches taller than her incredibly average height. As the seconds pass and he continues to stare at her, at the saber she offers, without saying a word, her disappointment turns to anger. He was here, hidden away in this oasis, while they all suffered. While people died. And this planet is indeed an oasis—there is something about the air itself that is soothing, calming. The ground beneath her seems to hum, as if filled with energy. She quickly decides to focus on that instead, and her hate drains away.

Rey’s mind is calm—and completely distracted—when the lightsaber flies out of her grasp and into Luke’s outstretched palm.

“Who are you?” Luke asks. 

“Rey.” 

He waits, expecting more, and she hates that there really isn’t any more to say. While _Rey, the scavenger from Jakku_ is pathetic, it’s also not true. She’s not a scavenger any more, and she’s not from Jakku—she just ended up there. She’s involved in the Resistance, but she doesn’t have a proper position in it, or a title. She doesn’t have a family she can remember, but _Rey the orphan_ is similarly pathetic and no longer true, because she’s not a child anymore—too old to be considered an orphan, at any rate. All she has is _Rey_. One syllable, three measly letters. Barely even a name at all. She used to wonder, sometimes, if it was a nickname, a shortening of some longer name she couldn’t even remember, but such questions were pointless. And pointless was synonymous with foolish, and, on Jakku, foolish was synonymous with dead. So she stopped.

“Aren’t you supposed to know such things without my needing to tell you?” Rey says testily. She might not have been born on Jakku, but she grew up there, and it was hardly a place for friendly conversation. If she thinks of the depressingly limited conversations she’d had in what she can remember of the 20-ish years before meeting BB-8 and Finn, 90% were bartering, 8% arguing, and the remaining 2% was mostly her talking to herself. Considering her circumstances, she actually considers her social skills quite impressive. 

They’re still terrible, though. 

“I could, probably,” Luke admits, “but not from all the way over here, and I don’t particularly like looking into people’s minds, especially not without their permission. It’s a skill I haven’t put much effort into developing, I’m afraid.” 

Rey says nothing.

“You clearly don’t want to tell me about yourself—”

“There’s nothing else to say,” Rey snaps, only feeling the smallest bit guilty about being rude. “I’m a nobody from nowhere. I was left on Jakku when I was little. I scavenged to survive and I lived in the shell of an old AT-AT. Two months ago I happened across a BB unit, ended up getting involved in the Resistance and—things got crazy from there,” she finishes lamely. There are certain wounds she has no desire to re-open, wounds that haven’t even had a chance to heal yet.

“Did you come alone?” Luke asks.

“My copilot is back on the ship with your old R2 unit. Your sister sent us to get you. The Resistance needs your help.”

Luke shakes his head. “I can’t help them. Look what happened the last time I got involved. No, they’re all better off without me.”

“They’re not,” Rey insists. 

“Leia was raised for something like this. She knows how to run an organization and build an army, and she’s _good_ at it,” Luke says, before growing much more melancholy. “I can’t face her, or Han. Knowing everything they’ve lost, and that I played such a role in it, though my intentions were always good.” 

Something inside Rey breaks, and she finds herself fighting back tears. _This isn’t like me,_ she thinks, irritated by her inability to control her emotions. _Or maybe it is_ , she realizes. _I’ve never really had anything or anyone to care for, to lose, to miss. And I certainly had no one to cry to._

“What is it?” Luke asks, anxious. He has a bad feeling about this. He’s had a bad feeling for a while now, but he had made a point of trying to ignore it in the hopes it would just fade away.

“Han Solo is dead,” Rey says. It’s the first time she’s actually had to say the words—everyone else she’s spoken to already knew. She didn’t realize how hard it would be, or how much it would hurt. She sees the despair wash over Luke’s face and she looks away, to spare herself in any little way she can. _Is that cowardly?_ she wonders. “I’m so sorry,” she says. 

“Han is…” Luke stumbles to a nearby boulder. His legs feel weak all of a sudden. He needs to sit down. “Oh _Leia_ ,” Luke whispers, unable to imagine the pain his twin must be feeling.

“How?” Luke asks. He thinks he knows the answer, but he doesn’t want to face it. 

“His son,” Rey says, not knowing what else to call him. _Kylo? Ben?_ “I was there, I saw it all. Han wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for me. Wouldn’t be—I’m so sorry,” Rey says again, tears flowing freely now. 

Luke waits for her to elaborate.

“I was captured by the First Order and brought to Starkiller base. Han was one of the first people I met after leaving Jakku and I think he felt somewhat responsible for me, so he helped rescue me. But then he saw Kylo and he couldn’t help himself. He confronted him, tried to convince him to come back with us, to leave the First Order. It almost seemed like he was listening, too, but then… then,” the whole thing is playing on a loop in her mind, clear as any holovid, but Rey can’t bring herself to describe it. 

“It’s all right. You’ve told me what I needed to know.” Knowing both Han and Ben, he can picture the whole thing quite clearly. _What have I done?_ Luke wonders not for the first time if this whole thing wasn’t a terrible mistake. _But it’s too late now._

Rey looks at Luke and sees something other than despair, probably because she feels it too: guilt. What she can’t understand is why.

“I still won’t go,” Luke says after a few moments of silence.

Rey opens her mouth to protest.

“But you can stay,” Luke continues. “Actually, I insist you do.”

“What?” Rey asks.

“You need training.”

Rey finds herself thinking of the first person to tell her that, of that very small part of her that found the offer tempting for reasons that the rest of her couldn’t even fathom. “I’ve managed fine thus far. The Resistance has done a lot for me, I can’t just abandon them.”

“Force sensitivity is something you’re born with, but it can be years before it fully manifests itself, particularly when someone lacks exposure. And once it does, there’s no turning it off. You’ve managed fine because you didn’t really have anything to manage—it was dormant. I’d imagine you didn’t even believe in the Force a year ago. But now it’s awake, and if you don’t learn how to control it, it will control you,” Luke says.

“How did you know?” 

“My story began quite a lot like yours, Rey. I was raised on Tatooine, lived a very simple life until I found an R2 unit containing a very important message. I was around your age, too. But I had a mentor—two, actually. I won’t claim to be half the Jedi either of them were. Unfortunately for you, though, there aren’t exactly a surplus of Jedi nowadays.” 

Rey still isn’t sold. “And if I don’t?”

“You’re like a beacon, Rey. Force sensitives can _sense_ each other. And someone as strong as you? Snoke could easily track you down from across the galaxy—and he will, trust me on that.”

“Then why can’t he find you? He’s been looking for a while now—it’s why I was captured. Ren thought I knew.”

“Haven’t you noticed something special about this place?” Luke asks. “Can’t you feel it?”

“Yes,” Rey says. It was one of the first things she noticed. The energy that seems to permeate the air and the ground beneath her feet, almost pulsating. But Rey still finds each new world she visits incredible, even magical, after having only known the deserts of Jakku for so long. A part of her hopes that never changes.

“Ever heard of a living planet?”

“That’s just a legend,” Rey dismisses.

“Like the Force?” Luke reminds her. “But you’re right, mostly. Like us, some planets are, in themselves, strong in the Force. But it’s a delicate thing—they get developed, and they ‘die’, so to say. But a small few, like this one, manage to protect themselves by somehow using the Force to hide themselves _from_ the Force. I don’t know how. It interferes with most technology, too—it’s why you won’t find it on most maps. Doesn’t even have a name, as far as I’m aware.” 

The autopilot had malfunctioned during the landing, but Rey preferred landing manually anyway, and so hadn’t thought much of it.

“Then how did you find it?” Rey challenged.

“I looked very, very carefully. It might be invisible in the Force, but, as you are well aware, you can still _see_ it. Sometimes the most basic methods really are the best, even if they’re not very elegant.”

“All right,” Rey says after a moment’s pause. “Teach me.” 

“Don’t get too excited about it,” Luke jokes. “But first, you should probably send your copilot on his way. I’ll go with you, if you don’t mind. I have some messages for the Resistance I’d like to send back with R2, assuming your copilot doesn’t shoot me first.”

 

 

“The ship has returned, General,” Kaydel Ko informs Leia from her place in the doorway. Leia beckons the junior controller inside.

“Is my brother with them?” Leia asks, though she has little hope. Though she chose not to explore or develop her Force abilities, she can sense her brother when he is near, and right now she senses nothing. Feels nothing. Numbness is preferable to the alternative.

“No,” Kaydel says, regretfully. “And neither is the girl. She stayed behind. But they both sent messages with R2 unit.” 

Leia really should have expected it. Considering everything that has happened—the destruction of the Hosnian system, _Han_ —it’s really the least of her problems. Still, she wishes something would go her way for once.

“Could you have R2-D2 sent here, please?” Leia asks.

“Of course.”

“That will be all, then, Ko,” Leia says. “Thank you.” 

Ko bows her head respectfully and then leaves, the door closing behind her.

Leia sighs loudly, free to do such things in the privacy of her empty office.

Though the destruction of Starkiller base had been a victory in the sense that they avoided being wiped off the map, Leia knows it was a hollow one. As far as she is concerned, it was more a defeat than a victory. The Hosnian system is gone, and the New Republic with it. The Resistance is truly all that stands between the First Order and the galaxy, and they aren’t nearly equipped for such a tremendous task. She’s had to take their focus off of the First Order to try and salvage the remains of the Republic. They need to find the remaining senators before the First Order does. The senators will help the Resistance gain public support, and recruiting must be their priority right now, because she knows that’s what the First Order will be doing.

The one comfort Leia has is that at least they have support now. Leia hates that it took the death of _billions_ of innocent people for them to finally realize the legitimacy of her warnings. She feels Naboo will become a strong ally, and high-ranking officials from several other planets and systems had made contact following the destruction of the Hosnian system.

But if Leia is being honest with herself, that’s not even really a comfort at all. Not the way that it should be. Because it means that the Resistance is quickly growing into a much larger and more complex organization, and she’s not sure she can keep up. How could she, when she’s failed in everything else? As a princess, as a mother, as a wife? She knows Luke has no head for politics, but he’s a good listener, and her brother. She can tell him these things, these doubts and fears, that she can’t tell anyone else. 

But he’s not here, meaning she’s alone in the ways that matter most. Leia has always prided herself on her strength, but everyone has a limit.

She worries she’s reaching hers.


	3. what are you afraid of? (and what are you made of?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training with Luke, Rey learns a little bit about what it means to be a Jedi and even more about herself.

_“An adventure is, by its nature, a thing that comes to us.”  
_ -G. K. Chesterton

 

Training with Luke is actual hell.

On Jakku life was hard. Her days revolved around scavenging enough to barter for food, and at night she slept so that she would have the energy to do it all again the next day. No matter how hard she tried she was usually hungry. Still, though, there were only a handful of occasions in all her years on Jakku where she actually feared starvation. 

On the Island it’s different. Rey never knows what to expect. As soon as she starts to catch on to a routine, Luke changes it. Just as soon as she’s starting to get the hang of something, he makes it harder. Sometimes he wakes her in the middle of the night to train. Once he makes her go four days without sleep. And to top it all off, she’s still hungry most of the time. Apparently, using food as a motivator is “the Jedi way”. Luke says that about a lot of things, and Rey isn’t convinced that he’s not lying half the time. Unfortunately, all she knows about being a Jedi is what she learns from him, so she can’t prove anything.

At first there is the gruel. Rey’s no fussy eater, but she has trouble forcing the greyish sludge Luke makes down. Even hunger barely makes it any more palatable.

But then there’s the fish, and Rey finds herself missing the gruel. First there’s fishing with a spear, which is okay. Then Luke takes away the spear and tells her to use her hands. They both go hungry for a few days, but she gets the hang of it soon enough. Of course, then he ties her hands together behind her back and tells her to pull the fish from the water using the Force. That one takes a little longer to master, but she gets there, eventually. 

Saber practice is difficult, because she can’t help thing of Kylo Ren. Of Han. Of Finn. Of fighting for her life in a snowy forest. The spluttering hiss of the blades, blue and red reflected in his dark eyes, so close that she can feel his breath on her skin. They use practice sabers, but the practice sabers look and feel like the real thing. Rey perseveres, gets better. But no matter what, she can’t stop thinking about Kylo Ren. The more she trains with a lightsaber, the less their fight makes sense. Luke trained him, too, and after just a few weeks with the Jedi Rey knows there were times she left herself open, times Ren definitely could have made a killing blow, but didn’t. He didn’t let her win—no, he underestimated her, and that was his undoing—but he _chose_ not to kill her. _Why?_ Because she’s strong in the Force? Maybe. But it seems flimsy to her. Shouldn’t that make her a threat, then? Something to be eliminated? The more she thinks about Kylo Ren, the less he makes sense. It just doesn’t add up. None of it does. And Rey’s perfectly good at math, which leaves another possibility: there’s something wrong with the equation. More specifically, something missing. Still, it really shouldn’t matter. What difference does it make to her? But she can’t get it out of her head. Can’t get _him_ out of her head.

Sometimes Luke duels with her. Other times he makes her train with the remote and the practice helmet. She _hates_ that blasted helmet. She tells Luke as much after being zapped one too many times.

Luke ignores her outburst.

“Stretch out with your feelings,” he repeats instead. Something about his voice makes her think he’s smiling. Rey rolls her eyes, knowing Luke can’t see. _That’s must be why he wears the mask_ , Rey thinks. _He’s not just being dramatic_. Though of course, he is that, too. _Yes._ Rey thinks of his boyish face, his expressive eyes—he wouldn’t be able to maintain his title as most feared man in the galaxy for long without the mask. Now that she thinks of it, actually, she can see why the mask would be quite useful. Distracted, the remote blasts her again, this time in the shoulder. 

“Focus,” Luke chides.

Rey takes her thoughts of Kylo Ren, her anger with herself over thinking about him in the first place, and pushes them all aside. She takes a deep breath. _Focus_.

This time, she manages to block the blast. She blocks the next one, too, and the one after that.

So then, of course, Luke decides it’s time to switch to dueling practice. She’s glad to take off the helmet, but she’s not looking forward to being thoroughly beaten again. 

It takes fifty-two seconds for Luke to make a hit—her left calf—and Rey feels a little proud. A new record. Still pathetic, but a little _less_ pathetic, and progress is progress. 

“You’re used to wielding a staff, aren’t you?” Luke asks. After an hour of non-stop practice, he’s graciously allowed a five minute break, and Rey resists the urge to gulp down her entire water canister. Instead she takes a few long drinks and then massages her poor legs, covered in a colorful array of bruises. 

“Yes, Master Luke,” Rey says, a little surprised _._ “How did you know?”

“You’re very skilled. Not just natural talent, but practiced skill. But you always seem to leave your legs vulnerable. A staff explains it.” 

“I miss it,” Rey admits. The staff felt natural in her hands in a way she fears the lightsaber never will. Her skills may be improving, but the weapon feels just as awkward in her hands, the balance as lopsided, as it did when she first held it.

“Back in the time of the Old Republic, before the Jedi Order collapsed, making a lightsaber used to be an important part of a padawan’s training. The blade was a reflection of herself. There were all kinds—including double-bladed ones, though they weren’t very common,” Luke says. “Unfortunately, times have changed. We no longer have such luxuries.”

Rey imagines wielding such a weapon, how it would feel in her hands. _Yes,_ she thinks, _that would be better._ But like Luke says, those times are gone, and Rey’s more than used to having to make do with what she has.

 

 

Of all the different sorts of exercises Luke makes her do, meditation is the easiest. Of course, she still has plenty of room for improvement, but something about it came naturally to her. That first vision, when she had picked up Luke’s lightsaber, had scared her, but fear and awe, she quickly realized, were closely related. Life on Jakku had been repetitive—difficult, yes, but also boring, especially because she had no fondness for cantinas or the fighting pits—and the whirlwind her life has become still feels unreal. As a loner, as scavenger, Rey has lived most of her life inside her own head, so to say. It remains where she’s most comfortable, and the idea that her mind is capable of far more than she had ever imagined is both scary and incredibly exciting.

Luke tells her that she’s very unusual in this regard. That he’s never trained anyone that favored meditation so much. Rey tells him about how she escaped from the interrogation chamber in Starkiller base, realizing that she’s never told anyone before.

“A Jedi mind trick,” Luke says, astonished. “I wish Obi-Wan were here. I wonder what he’d say?”

Rey has heard a little bit about Obi-Wan Kenobi from Master Skywalker, and his name had popped up once or twice in stories of the Old Republic she had heard in the markets of Jakku, but she is curious to hear more. And Luke tells her more, without her even needing to ask. He tells her all about Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Rey listens silently, fearing any interruption might snap Luke out of the near-trance he seems to be in. Rey finds meditation rewarding, the sense of peace and calm it inspires, but she _loves_ stories. On Jakku the only stories she really got were those she overheard in the marketplace and those she made up herself, which never seemed good enough.

It is near sunset by the time Luke finishes his last tale of Obi-Wan. There is a small smile on his face, but it strikes Rey as incredibly sad.

She realizes, in that moment, that she knows little of loneliness. She’s an expert on being alone. Before Finn and BB-8 and Han and Chewie, she had been alone for as long as she could remember. She wished for more, but she didn’t _miss_ it, because she never had it. But then she met them. She got a taste of something else, of what it was like to not be alone, and there’s no going back. Their absence is now a constant ache, the thought of Han still twists her heart in a vice-like grip. And she’s only had a taste. 

Seeing Luke now, remembering General Organa after they returned from Starkiller base, Rey can’t help but wonder if it’s worth it. Caring for someone. Loving someone.

Rey’s never loved anyone, not really. She clung to the idea of her family like a lifeline, but they were only an idea, a vague concept in her mind. Finn is her friend, and she’s never had a friend before. She cares about him a great deal, worries about him even though the medic assured her before she left that he would make a full recovery. But there’s a part of herself she keeps safe, locked away, the smallest distance she maintains, even from him.

She admired Han, looked up to him in a way that she had never looked up to anyone before. Kylo Ren hadn’t been wrong—she had almost seen him as a father, as the embodiment of the father figure she wishes she had—but she never made that final step, even in her own mind. But still, for all her precaution, his death still hurt in a way she’s never felt before, a pain far worse than anything she felt in the interrogation chamber, worse than the hunger pains she felt when she was fourteen and went over a month without finding anything trade-worthy—the only time in all her years on Jakku she truly thought she was going to die. 

She can’t imagine it, truly allowing herself to love someone and then losing them. Can’t imagine surviving such pain. The thought of all of it, any of it—loving someone, losing someone— _terrifies_ Rey unlike anything else, makes her want to run all the way back to Jakku and try to forget the last four months ever even happened. She knows it’s not possible, that it’s far too late for her to turn back, that she doesn’t really want to go back to Jakku or leave behind the incredible people she’s met. But the idea still holds a certain appeal, and for even that Rey is disappointed in herself. She is a survivor, and proud of it, strong in many ways: strong in the Force, physically strong (more and more each day), strong-principled, intelligent. But her heart, she fears, is fragile. Enough that the last thing she wants to do is test it.

“There’s still time in the day,” Luke finally says, finished with his thoughts and pulling Rey from her own. “Let’s not waste it.”

They sit on a cliff overlooking the water, and Luke tells her to close her eyes and reach out through the force to count the number of insects on a large boulder a few yards away. 

Rey counts thirty-seven. One of them crawls off when she’s in the middle of counting, but she decides to include it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since writing this, I have learned that Skellig Michael planet has a name in Star Wars canon, but I personally think it's a silly name and like the idea of it being nameless better, so it's staying nameless. Or, in the words of Nick Fury/Mace Windu/Samuel L. Jackson (I swear he plays the same character 85% of the time), "given that it's a stupid-ass decision, I've elected to ignore it." Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter even though it's a little bit of a filler, more plot stuff happens next time. I always appreciate comments, and am more than open to suggestions/ideas/etc., so please let me know your thoughts!


	4. and it’s all in my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey has visions and Kylo has nightmares.

_“Love does take us and transfigure and torture us. It does break our hearts with an unbearable beauty...”_  
-G. K. Chesterton

 

It is the same night that Master Luke tells her all about Obi-Wan Kenobi that Rey has the first vision. Or the second, she supposes, if she includes when she first touched the lightsaber—her Awakening, as Master Luke says.

In the depths of meditation Rey has gotten to the point of often seeing blurry images of people and places she has never seen, but they are like early memories: so faint it is impossible to tell where wishful thinking might be replacing the truth. 

But never a vision before, either while meditating or during the night in her sleep. Until now. 

She realizes what it is almost right away. Rey’s always been more of a dreamless sleeper, and on the rare occasion she does dream it’s never so detailed as this, never so real. And while she’s got a decent imagination—she can’t imagine anyone surviving life on Jakku without spending a good amount of time daydreaming—she knows she’s not nearly creative enough to imagine half the things she’s seeing now. And if it’s not her, well, then that only leaves the Force.

The first vision is simple enough. 

Two men are walking down a corridor unlike anything Rey has ever seen, flanked on both sides by columns that seem impossibly tall. But Rey ignores the architecture, knowing that it’s not what she needs to focus on, and if she takes even a moment to admire it she will become entirely distracted. They are both tall, one nearing middle age and the other quite young—not much older than herself, Rey would guess. The young one is clearly a Jedi, the older man certainly not, though he is undoubtedly someone important. _A politician?_ Rey thinks, _maybe a senator?_ A flash of gold catches her eye. _C3PO? …and R2-D2!_

If she had any doubts as to whether it’s the past she’s seeing, they are gone now.

Quite like her Awakening, the vision isn’t a holovid flickering across her eyelids. She’s not seeing it, she’s _in_ it. But, unlike her Awakening, it’s not about her. Though she may be in it, she’s not part of it. It’s more real than she is. If she were to try and touch a column her hand would pass right through it, not because the column was not solid, but because her hand was not. _I’m a ghost_ , Rey thinks _. How odd_.

She rushes to keep up with the men, realizing that her first instinct—to keep her distance, avoid being noticed—is entirely pointless. It’s strange, being within arm’s reach of someone and not having them react or in any way sense her presence, but at least she doesn’t have to strain her ears this way.

 _He’s quite handsome_ , Rey thinks of the Jedi, now close enough to get a good look at him. She quickly realizes something else: _he looks like Master Luke. Only younger and… taller_. But even more than Luke, something about this young Jedi reminds her eerily of Kylo Ren. _This is Luke’s father_ , Rey thinks, nearly ashamed at how long it has taken her to put the pieces together. _This is Darth Vader._  

 _This is Anakin Skywalker_ , another part of her mind corrects. _Darth Vader was a mask, a monster, a terrible mistake. But never a man._

Being so close to him, Rey notices a scar running down his temple and through his eyebrow. _Where I cut Kylo Ren_ , she thinks. It’s not exactly the same, but close enough that Rey finds it almost… unsettling? She can’t quite put her finger on what she’s feeling. _But enough of that_ , Rey thinks, pushing Kylo Ren aside—and knowing he’ll be back soon enough. Ever since she first saw him she hasn’t gone so much as a day without thinking of him, though not for lack of trying. _Now focus._

“The fighting will continue until General Grevious is spare parts,” Anakin says.

“Well, I will do everything I can in the senate,” the other man promises.

 _I was right!_ Rey thinks, only a little smug.

Looking over to Anakin, Rey finds him distracted, his gaze fixed on something over her shoulder, so Rey turns. There’s a young woman, standing in the shadow of the nearest column. 

“Excuse me.” Rey hears Anakin’s voice right behind her, and before she has a chance to move he walks right _through_ her on his way to the woman by the pillar.

 _Well that answers that question_ , Rey thinks, with a slight shiver. Being stepped through is quite unpleasant and she has no desire to experience it again, so Rey decides that maintaining a few feet of distance is entirely reasonable. She’s still close enough to hear everything. 

The senator seems entirely unbothered by his companion’s abrupt departure and continues on his way without so much as a backwards glance. Rey thinks it quite lucky, because if he did look back she’s not certain how he would feel about what he would see.

Anakin rushes over to the woman, his last few steps almost breaking a run, and sweeps her into his arms. The woman wraps her arms around his neck and clings to him, as if afraid he might disappear. He spins her around before gently lowering her back to the ground. There is so much love in every movement, every glance, it radiates from them like sunlight. Rey feels a strange twisting in her chest, watching them, and has to force herself not to look away. 

She feels guilty, watching such a private moment, but the Force must have brought her here for a reason, so she keeps watching. 

They kiss and Rey’s ears burn. She feels like a child, small and painfully juvenile. She knows nothing of love and very little of lust. When she was sixteen curiosity had drove her to the cantinas a few times, the morbid hope that the vices that most on Jakku seemed to covet might help fill the horrible emptiness she felt. The alcohol she quickly lost interest in. It was a waste of money, and Rey had no money to waste. She didn’t like the taste, and she hated the way it made her feel, the way it made her tongue clumsy and her thoughts blurry. She shared a few kisses in darkened corners with strangers, but they provided no comfort and little pleasure. Still, she gave it a few more tries than the alcohol—three, total. But then the third wanted to do more, and didn’t take her refusal well. In trying to get a better hold on her arms to restrain her he had loosened his grip enough for Rey to reach up and claw at his eyes. He was distracted by the pain and Rey was able to escape. She had been so stupid, and only luck had saved her. Rey learned her lesson, and never tried a thing like that again. She never even wanted to, any lingering curiosity snuffed out by one terrifyingly close call to disaster.

Anakin and the woman exchange words of love and Rey learns the woman’s name is Padme. There’s no doubt in Rey’s mind that this is Luke’s mother. She imagines that General Organa resembled her quite a bit when she was younger. _Luke never mentions her,_ Rey realizes. _No one does._ And then it hits her— _they don’t know_. Rey tries to think back on the stories she’s heard over the years—the legends and rumors and drunken speculations—and the only thing she can come up with are mentions of a woman, a wife, being responsible for Anakin Skywalker’s fall. Though she knows how the story ends, seeing them now, before her, Rey has a hard time believing it. _How could something so bright end in such darkness?_

“I’m tired of all this deception. I don’t care if they know we’re married.” _That’s right, it was forbidden,_ Rey remembers, recalling Luke’s lessons on the history of the Jedi and the old Jedi code.

“Ani, don’t say things like that,” Padme chastises, though Rey can see a similar longing in her eyes, a similar fatigue from the weight of the secret they carry. But there is something else, too. Rey can sense it, though she can’t place it. It’s something entirely unfamiliar.

Rey continues watching, and Padme reveals her pregnancy, and Rey feels like a fool once again. Rey looks down to her abdomen and looks at the small but definite bump there with some curiosity.

She’s never seen a pregnant woman before.

On Jakku, pregnancy had not just been seen as a disease—a noxious parasite—but a curable one. Women who got pregnant terminated the pregnancy far before it was outwardly visible. If there were people on that desert planet who chose to carry a baby to term, they weren’t the type to frequent Niima Outpost. Similarly, there were no babies and very few children. Very rarely had Rey ever encountered anyone who would call themselves a native of Jakku. It was a truly barren planet, the junkyard of the universe, where unwanted scraps from across the galaxy washed up like debris on a shore. Sometimes it was the remains of ships, but mostly it was people. Equally unwanted and arguably even less valued—after all, Unkar Plutt would only trade rations in exchange for the ship parts.

“That’s wonderful,” Anakin says, wide-eyed. 

“What are we going to do?” Padme asks. Anakin pauses for a moment, trying to figure out what to say.

“We’re not going to worry about it. We’re not going to worry about anything. This is a happy moment—the happiest moment of my life,” Anakin insists. Rey knows he means it, though his voice is strained. _He’s worried._

The world around her flickers, and then is replaced by a very different scene. A large space station in the midst of a battle. Rey can sense the events of both visions are closely linked, but that this actually occurred _before_ the earlier vision. Rey is not surprised. She hardly expected the Force to be limited by something like chronological order.

Red and blue clash in a sea of sparks, Sith and Jedi, old and young. The Sith makes one false move and that’s enough—the blue blade severs both his hands. The defeated Sith falls to his knees, completely at the mercy of his opponent, who now holds both blades. 

“Good, Anakin, good!” the elderly man in restraints praises with a smile. “Kill him.”

The Sith looks to his— _prisoner?_ —with something like disbelief. _Betrayal_. Anakin hesitates.

“Kill him now,” the elderly man repeats. 

The Sith looks up at the young Jedi, pleading. _Don’t do it,_ Rey thinks. It’s a vision from the past, a story already written, but Rey still wants to call out to Anakin. _Don’t!_ She thinks of him and Padme as she has just seen them, of the young man, so afraid, but desperate to hide it—so adverse to the idea of causing the woman he loves pain that he would rather take even more upon himself.

“I shouldn’t,” he says. 

“Do it,” the old man orders. There is something very _wrong_ about him. Rey doesn’t feel darkness radiating from him like Kylo Ren, or anything in the Force that would suggest anything out of the ordinary with the old man, but that’s it—it’s _too_ normal. Unnatural. Something about the old man repulses Rey, makes her want to run in the opposite direction, and it’s an instinct belonging to Rey, the scavenger from Jakku, not Rey, the Jedi padawan, but Rey’s instincts kept her alive far too long for her to ignore them, even if the Force suggests otherwise.

“You’ve done well, Anakin,” the old man praises. “He was too dangerous to be kept alive.”

“Yes, but he was an unarmed prisoner,” Anakin says. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s not the Jedi way.”

He frees the old man from his bonds. 

“It is only natural. He cut off your arm, you wanted revenge. It wasn’t the first time, Anakin,” the old man says, leaning in, “remember what you told me about your mother, and the Sand People.” 

Anakin looks away, ashamed.

“Now we must leave,” the old man beckons, “before more security droids arrive.”

Instead of going to the old man, Anakin rushes to the side of a Jedi lying prone on the floor, his legs crushed beneath a fallen platform. Anakin pulls him free with the help of the Force.

“Anakin, there’s no time,” the old man says. “We must get off the ship before it’s too late.” 

“He seems to be all right,” Anakin says.

“Leave him,” the old man commands, “or we’ll never make it.” Beneath the irritation, there is a note of something else: fear. _Why would he be afraid?_

“His fate will be the same as ours,” Anakin replies, looking directly at the old man. The look in his eyes make it perfectly clear there is no room for argument.

The world around Rey fades, but nothing replaces it this time.

She wakes, back in her bed—rock slab with thin pallet and threadbare blanket—on the Island, the warming blue light of early dawn visible through the mouth of the small cave that is her quarters on the Island. She can also see Master Luke approaching, no doubt to wake her. Reaching her cave he realizes she is already awake and smiles.

“You’re getting better,” Luke praises.

She is about to tell him about the visions, but something stops her tongue. Uncertainty, she supposes. She feels this is the start of something, something _important_ , and she doesn’t want to risk it. Rey can’t think of any reason why telling Master Luke would make the visions stop or interfere with them in some way, but still, what if? Anyway, she can’t see a harm in not telling him—or at least waiting to tell him. Rey decides she likes the sound of that best—waiting. Not lying, not hiding, just waiting. At peace with her decision, Rey rises from bed, throws her robe over her leggings and undershirt, and belts it at her waist. 

“Thank you, Master,” Rey says, exiting her cave to follow Luke to the fire pit, where she is sure a vaguely edible breakfast awaits.

 

 

Kylo has been in Hell for a very long time. At least, he had thought so.

Everything before pales in comparison to the constant suffering that is “completing his training”. But it’s only fitting, in a way, because now Hell is where he truly belongs. Kylo Ren is officially a Sith. A Sith apprentice, that is. Darth Menoetes. Named for the Mygeetoan god of rage and violence. 

By the time Starkiller base was destroyed it had already fulfilled its primary purpose, so the Plan actually remained surprisingly unchanged, with the timeframe stretching to accommodate settling of a temporary intermediate base on a planet not far from the ruins of Starkiller. They had emptied the planet before Starkiller base was even begun—in the name of secrecy—so it was both habitable and entirely uninhabited by intelligent life forms. A setback, maybe, but Snoke had come out from his private base in some far corner of the galaxy that he kept secret from everyone, including Kylo, to step up and take a visible, active role as leader of the First Order, as originally intended.

Kylo had been nursed back to full health and fixed up, leaving only two faint scars: one running across his face, not even visible to an onlooker from any distance, and another on his abdomen, courtesy of the Wookie he had called an uncle growing up. Kylo had expected all this. What he hadn’t quite expected was that all this was done, seemingly, so that Snoke could have the pleasure of completely tearing him apart, replacing every healed injury with several new ones. At least, unlike the scavenger, Snoke never goes for his face.

Kylo has not slept in over 100 hours, by his reckoning, so when Snoke _finally_ gives him leave to return to his quarters, Kylo only bothers to pull off his boots before falling into bed. He falls asleep instantly and dreams. As usual, his dream is a nightmare, and his nightmare also a memory. 

It’s a village on some Outer Rim planet—he can’t even remember which. They had been looking for the map to Luke Skywalker and someone had pointed them here. The lead proved false, but they didn’t know that yet. Nearly the entire village—barely 200 people, Kylo would say—was gathered around where two stormtroopers had the village leader restrained. There had been a young boy—a foolish, headstrong boy, not unlike Kylo himself had been—who had got it in his head to be a hero. He had managed to pull a blaster off of a nearby stormtrooper and pointed it at him. Kylo easily deflected the shot. Another stormtrooper pulled the weapon from the boy and dragged him out of the crowd. If there was any chance of sparing the boy’s life, it disappeared when he spat in Kylo’s face.

As soon as he cut the boy down, everything descended into chaos.

It is this that Kylo relives in his dream. The burning huts, the screams, the children crying. But then something happens. He sees something impossible—he sees _her_. His daughter, older than he’s ever seen her before, fourteen or fifteen, maybe. She runs towards him, not just oblivious to but separate from her surroundings, like Kylo is seeing two worlds superimposed. 

“Wake up!” she shouts urgently. “You need to wake up!”

So he does.

Kylo jolts awake on high alert. In the total darkness of the room he sees more than feels the knife within arm’s reach of his throat, and uses the Force to pull it from his attacker’s grasp and into his own, throwing his attacker and slamming him into the wall and holding him there. Kylo turns on the light and sees Hux eagle-spread flat against the wall, struggling against his invisible restraints. Kylo is hardly surprised. 

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” Kylo says mildly, contemplating the knife in his hand. Knives are such crude, messy things, but Hux has always had a fondness for them. Kylo would begrudgingly admit, though, that he has a definite skill with them. 

“Snoke sent me here,” Hux says, still struggling.

“I figured as much. If you were the type to murder me in my sleep of your own volition you would have done it years ago. And if you had tried years ago, you might have even been successful,” Kylo admits. “If I hadn’t woken up, you would have slit my throat.” It isn’t a question.

“Of course I would,” Hux scoffs. _And I would have enjoyed it,_ is left unsaid, but Kylo hears it anyway.

“So then why shouldn’t I do the same? I thought you were supposed to be smart, Hux,” Kylo says. “But I’m feeling generous for some strange reason, so I’ll give you one more chance: Why. Shouldn’t. I. Kill. You?”

They both know this is not exactly true. They both represent years of work for Snoke, and that makes them valuable. It most certainly would be the Sith way to kill Hux as he would have killed him, but Hux’s death would be highly inconvenient for Snoke, and Snoke hates inconveniences. Kylo has no desire to deal with an irritated Snoke. 

“I may not be special, like you, but the role I fill is necessary,” Hux says. “You kill me, Snoke will have to replace me, and my replacement could be anyone. You hate me—believe me, I hate you too—but you _know_ me. Do you really want to risk the unknown?”

Kylo says nothing. He knows Hux is right, but he wants to see Hux squirm just for a little while longer.

“As they say in Corellia, ‘Better the Devil you know’. Your father was Corellian, wasn’t he?”

“Indeed,” Kylo says, releasing Hux, who falls to the floor, and opening the door. Hux scrambles to his feet. “Oh, Hux?” 

“What?” Hux snaps.

With a flick of his wrist, Kylo releases the knife. It flies across the room and embeds itself into its owner’s shoulder. _Weapons have no loyalty,_ Kylo thinks, remembering one of Snoke’s favorite lessons. 

Hux swears violently, bent over in pain.

“ _Never_ mention my father again,” Kylo orders, before Force pushing Hux out into the hallway and slamming the door shut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so I have a few notes for this chapter. 
> 
> First of all, Kylo Ren's Sith name. I figured he had to have one, and I didn't want to use Darth Caedus because I'm not even familiar with that storyline and Ben/Kylo's story here will be completely unrelated. Menoetes/Menoetius is a somewhat obscure Greek mythological figure/Titan (likely multiple figures) whose name means "doomed might" and who was (possibly?) a god of violent anger and rash action. I figured it suited the Kylo Ren persona quite well. 
> 
> Second of all, I doubt the idea of a Devil exists in SW mythos, but Han Solo does (I'm almost certain) mention "hell" in one of the original trilogy films, so I'm choosing to have the whole Hell/Devil thing be a part of Corellian mythology. 
> 
> Lastly, for anyone doubting Rey is attracted to Kylo Ren, I present this little gem from the TFA script:
> 
> "Kylo Ren stops, considers her... then reaches up, unlatches and REMOVES HIS MASK. Rey reacts, stunned." (Me too, Rey. Me too.)
> 
> As always, I love to hear from you, so please leave a comment! 
> 
> Next time: Rey takes a break from Jedi training to aid the Resistance in a rescue mission, and Rey and Kylo (almost) cross paths.


	5. when there's nowhere else to run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey's training is interrupted by some old friends (also, the author makes parallels so obvious that even Luke notices).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Ziggy Stardust. Anyone who can figure out the connection between the chapter title and David Bowie gets a gold star.

_“Let us, then, go upon a long journey and enter on a dreadful search.”  
_ —G. K. Chesterton

Rey is levitating a boulder the size of a bantha when she catches sight of the ship. It’s a relatively small ship—slightly smaller than the Millennium Falcon, she would guess—and about as innocuous as a ship can be: an unmarked civilian ship of basic design, not large enough to carry much in the way of cargo and lacking any form of weaponry. 

“Focus,” Luke says. Rey looks back and realizes that she had lowered the boulder slightly while distracted. He seems entirely unconcerned by the ship, and so Rey figures she has no reason to be, either. 

“Expecting someone?” Rey asks.

“Not today specifically, no,” Luke answers, “but did I expect them to come before your training was complete? Yes. I actually expected someone to show up sooner.”

When the ship lands, two very familiar figures step out.

“Poe! _Finn!_ ” Rey shouts. The boulder hits the ground with a loud thud, entirely forgotten. Luke sighs though he hardly expected anything less. Rey runs over to hug the first true friend she’s ever had. Poe quickly worms his way in to make it a group hug.

“What are you doing here?” Rey asks. 

“What, we can’t just drop by your super-secret Jedi planet to say ‘hi’?” Poe jokes. 

“Hello Poe, Finn,” Luke greets, approaching them. He had made his way over at a far more sedate pace than his padawan. “Rey speaks very highly of you.” 

“You’re Luke Skywalker,” Finn says dumbly, and Rey’s actually quite happy to see that he hasn’t changed all that much in the time she’s been gone. 

“The one and only,” Luke says.

“You’re short,” Finn blurts out before covering his mouth in horror. Rey resists the urge to groan and Poe tries to disguise his laughter as a cough. “I mean…” 

“Too short for a stormtrooper, I’ve been told,” Luke says, sounding more amused than anything. Finn smiles gratefully and Luke turns his attention to Poe. “Is my sister all right?”

“As well as can be expected,” Poe says. “She says we’re in the calm before the storm, but it’s hardly calm. Everyone’s picking sides. More recruits are coming in than anyone knows what to do with, but we need everyone we can get if we’re going to stand a chance. But, for now, the number one priority for General Organa is the senators. Of the 538 members of the Galactic Senate, 216 are confirmed dead and 50 more believed dead. Of the remaining 212, 82 have allied themselves with us, 57 _confirmed_ with the First Order, 19 more suspected, 33 confirmed _killed_ by the First Order, 50 remain neutral.”

“And the other 31?” Luke asks.

“Missing. Weren’t believed to be in the Hosnian system at the time of the attack, but haven’t been heard from since. We believe they’re in hiding. Can’t say I blame them,” Poe adds.

“So we’ve established we’re both capable of basic arithmetic,” Luke says. “That doesn’t answer the question as to why you’ve come _here_.”

“Senator Spinoza of Bespin was one of those 31. He was given an ultimatum by the First Order, join or die, but disappeared instead. He’s managed to contact us from hiding, agreeing to support the Resistance in exchange for protection for him and his family. Unfortunately, they’re hiding in Cloud City, which is currently swarming with stormtroopers and First Order officials.”

 “So you need to get in and sneak them out without being noticed,” Rey interjects.

Poe nods. “Exactly. Senator Spinoza is a popular figure, and not just on Bespin. He was the frontrunner for Vice Chair in the elections that would have happened next month. With the current Chancellor and Vice Chair confirmed dead, Spinoza is one of the most powerful figures of what’s left of the New Republic senate.”

“And you need Master Luke’s help?” Rey asks. 

“Well, we wouldn’t say no, that’s for sure, but General Organa figured that wasn’t a feasible option. We’re actually here for you, Rey. We need stealth, and this one here,” Poe nudges Finn good-naturedly, “suggested you.”

Rey turns to Luke. He looks troubled. 

“Master Luke?” 

Luke waves away her concern. “Memories, that’s all. What do you say, Rey?”

“And after I can come back, finish my training?” 

“Of course.” Rey notices that Luke has an odd smile on his face, and for some reason she thinks this whole thing has some significance that only he can see. Rey worries for a moment before realizing that, no matter what it is, if she needs to know then Luke will tell her.

Rey turns to Poe. “Count me in.”

“All right! You had me worried for a second,” Poe says. “I’m afraid there’s no time to lose. We still have to meet up with the others at the Dagobah outpost for final planning.”

Rey goes to her cave to gather the few belongings she might need—clothes, her lightsaber (Obi-Wan Kenobi’s old blade, which feels slightly less awkward in her hand than Luke’s)—and hurries back. Like Poe says, they have no time to lose. 

“Four whole months with only him for company? I would’ve gone insane,” Finn says, en route for Dagobah less than an hour after Rey spotted their ship in the sky.

“I wasn’t—” Rey begins, before realizing Finn’s right. It hadn’t felt like it, though—the visions were so real, populated by more people than Rey’s ever seen with her waking eyes, beings and places she couldn’t have even imagined, that Rey hadn’t felt alone with Master Luke for a long while. She had told him about the visions after the sixth consecutive night, when it was clear they weren’t going away. He had been somewhat surprised, curious, but ultimately unconcerned. Telling him was a relief, and Rey chastised herself for not doing it sooner.

_Luke tilted his head, as Rey had noticed he was wont to do when thinking. “The Force is indeed a mystery, but it does nothing without reason.”_

_Rey nodded, wondering how his words could be such a comfort without even saying anything particularly comforting._

_“I do have one thing to ask of you, though.” He sounded almost timid. Rey had never heard him sound timid before. “You said you saw her?”_

_Rey immediately knew who_ she _was. “Yes.”_

_“Would you mind if I…?” Luke gestured towards her temples, and Rey knew exactly what he was asking._

_“Of course,” she said without hesitation. Rey cleared her mind as if to meditate, but pulled up the image of Padme instead. Luke’s hands hovered centimeters from Rey’s face. She could feel his consciousness politely tapping at the edge of hers, and she let him in. Rey could tell he was being incredibly careful, avoiding everything but the one thing he had asked to see. He didn’t stay for long—less than a minute had passed before he crept back out, lowering his hands to their usual resting place, clasped behind his back. Rey opened her eyes and found tearful blue ones looking back._

_“Thank you, Rey,” he whispered._

_Rey thought Master Luke’s eyes looked watery more often than not, full of sorrow threatening to spill over. This look was different, still melancholy, but not tormented. And there was a joy there, too, though muted. Rey knew that if she had such an opportunity—to even catch a glimpse of her parents, regardless of whether that be in a holo or someone else’s mind—she would take it in a heartbeat. In that moment Rey felt an incredible kinship with her mentor._

_Luke ended lessons early that day._

However, Rey doesn’t particularly feel like explaining all this to Finn and Poe, nor does she feel she has the words to explain it in a way that would make any sense. Instead she abandons her unfinished argument. 

“It wasn’t so bad,” she says instead. And it’s not a lie. 

 

Luke had told her about his training with Master Yoda on Dagobah, but the planet is still a surprise to her, entirely unlike any of the five other planets she’s seen in her waking life or the dozens of others she’s seen in her sleep. Rey feels a thrill run through her when she first lowers a foot to the surprisingly spongy earth, and not all of it has to do with the Force, though there is undoubtedly that, too. Like the Island, but also completely different. The excitement of exploration is somewhat dampened by her first breath of Dagobah air, as is her physical being. The air is heavy and wet— _humid_ , her brain supplies after some searching. She’s never had a reason to use the term before. Rey has hardly taken five steps from the ship and she already feels damp from head to toe. It’s impossible to tell what’s from the air and what’s sweat, but Rey finds it all decidedly unpleasant. Rey could handle heat with ease. On Jakku, she often spent the hottest part of the day deep inside the carcasses of metal beasts which acted like giant ovens under the influence of the midday sun. The air more often than not shimmered with heat starting shortly after dawn and continuing well into dusk. Rey had thought she knew heat.

She realizes now that she was wrong, because this humid, swampy heat is a completely different beast. She turns to Poe and Finn to see if her companions are suffering similarly. Poe looks quite uncomfortable, but not surprised— _he’s been here before_ , she thinks—and Finn looks remarkably at ease.

“The stormtrooper armor,” Finn says, deciphering her curious glance. “It was like being steamed in your own sweat. I told you before the masks filtered out smoke. They also kept in moisture.” Finn is quiet for a moment, lost in thought. He is so jovial most of the time that Rey forgets how much he too has suffered. “At least here I’m not trapped in that prison.”

They soon come up to the Resistance outpost, which Rey quickly surmises is a much smaller, scrappier version of the D’Qar base. The hangar—a large slab of concrete with a tin roof that is more suggested by the design than actually present—holds three X-wings, a shuttle of some sort, a small freighter, and two other small vehicles that Rey can’t identify. The other three makeshift buildings look decidedly out of place and precarious. It is as if Dagobah itself is aware of the foreign bodies and is actively trying to swallow them whole.

Rey hears a loud whistle from the closest structure—a watchtower nearly four stories tall that leaned decidedly to the left—and there is a sudden flurry of activity as people come rushing out from every direction.

“Poe Dameron!” one voice calls out, and soon after several others join in. One in particular rises above the rest; a woman pushes her way through the small crowd that has formed and rushes to reach them first.

“Poe!” she shouts excitedly, pulling the Resistance’s star pilot into a bone-crushing hug. 

Rey notices she bears a definite resemblance to Poe, with black hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. _A sister?_ Rey wonders. As far as she can recall, Poe never mentioned having a sister. Rey turns to Finn who shrugs as if to say, _I have no idea, either._  

“Hell, Nell,” Poe says with an exaggerated wheeze as soon as she lets go, “if I didn’t know I was your favorite cousin I’d say you were trying to break my ribs.”

“You’re my only cousin, dimwit,” Nell says fondly.

“Finn, Rey,” Poe says, turning back to his companions, “this is my cousin, Eleonora Dameron.” 

Finn and Rey wave nervously in a synchronized display of social awkwardness.

“Well, hello Finn, Rey, and welcome to Dagobah outpost. Please, call me Nell.” Nell turns to her cousin. “But that’s _Officer_ Dameron to you, nerfherder.”

“Respect your elders!” Poe jokes.

“Thirty-six days, Poe. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count if you can’t remember a time before I existed,” Nell retorts. “And while we’re stating basic facts, Tatooine still has two suns. Oh, and I’m still taller than you.”

It’s true. Though not by more than a half-inch, Nell is definitely taller the taller of the two. Rey looks down and see they both wear identical pairs of the brown boots that are standard issue in the Resistance, so there is really no doubt.

Nell escorts them to the outpost’s command center, bantering with her cousin all the while. A small handful of individuals from the crowd that had gathered follow behind, though most wander back to whatever it is they were doing before.

The “control room” is really just a large room with a line of shelves lining one wall and a large, round table in the middle.

Nell takes a seat in one of the chairs, and the others follow her lead. In addition to herself, Finn, Poe, and Nell, there are also four others. Three men, one woman. One of the men is clearly not human—his olive green skin is testament to that—but Rey doesn’t know what species. She certainly hasn’t met one before. From the way the four greet Poe, Rey concludes they’ve all met before. Poe, being the sort of person he is, introduces them all. The non-human is Ardray Wen, a Mirialan. The two men are Symeon Sykes and Brann Chyler, the woman Dante Merrill.

Nell asks for quiet and the group complies. She pulls up some schematics on her data pad and lays it on the table. It projects a holo of the information for all to see.

“Our intelligence tells us that Spinoza and his family are being hidden in Port Town.” 

“Port Town?!” Chyler splutters. “That hive of scum and villainy—”

“Is probably the best hiding place for a noted senator, and convenient for us, considering the Port Town docks are the least closely monitored in all of Cloud City,” Nell says with a warning glance.

“It’s also my home town,” adds Merrill, icily.

“We will be masquerading as smugglers bringing in Corellian spice wine. Our informant has given us a landing code that should allow us easy access.”

“Who is this informant?” Poe asks. “How do we know we can trust them?” 

“You’re speaking in terms of luxuries we can no longer afford, dear cousin,” Nell says. “But I’ll humor you. This individual has been hiding Spinoza and his family for over a month at considerable personal risk. I’d say that’s about as close to proof of character as we could hope for.”

“But what’s in it for them?” Poe insists.

“They want to join the Resistance. And I’m not taking any more questions on the matter,” Nell adds, seeing Poe getting ready to ask another question. Poe closes his mouth.

Nell goes over the plan, which is really a plan and several back-up plans. The “best case scenario”, as she calls it, is that they successfully dock in Port Town, meet up with their informant, who leads them to Spinoza, then smuggle Spinoza and his family back to the ship in large wine barrels. Only she, Rey, and the two Bespinites will be masquerading as smugglers; Poe, Finn, and Ardray Wen will take the X-wings and hide in the shadow of H’gaard, the largest of Bespin’s moons, in case back up is required. Poe pouts about having to wait on the sidelines and Nell quickly reminds him that having one of the most well-known faces in the galaxy makes him, in her words, “a shit choice for a stealth mission”.

They leave in the middle of the night, Dagobah time, to get to their destination just before dawn, Bespin time—according to Chyler and Merrill, peak time for incoming shipments. Their landing code works without a hitch. 

A young woman steps out of the shadows of a tall shadow of crates to greet them. She has short hair, curlier than Rey’s ever seen, that falls about an inch short of her shoulders. Her skin is a few shades darker than Nell’s and her eyes are green. Rey would guess that the woman is older than her but younger than Nell, though she’s far from certain. 

“Looks like it will be a fine day,” Nell greets. 

The young woman tilts her head. “I suppose it looks that way,” she says, “but I can’t say. You see, there are two things that I don’t bet on—”

“—and those are weather and war,” Nell finishes, and the women shake hands. 

“Follow me,” the woman instructs. Nell gives the others a reassuring nod. The other three dutifully follow along, pushing their large, wheeled crates in front of them.

They get to Spinoza’s hideout without problems of any kind. Rey had been somewhat worried that their crates would stick out like sore thumbs, but she quickly realizes that they would actually be far more conspicuous without them. The crowds are daunting to Rey, unlike anything she has ever seen with her waking eyes. If it were not for the Force visions of cities even larger and more crowded than anywhere in Cloud City, Rey is certain she would be completely overwhelmed by it all. As it is, Rey hadn’t anticipated how her increased awareness of the Force would prove quite distressing in such a crowded environment. She finds herself instinctually trying to isolate and identify all of the Force signatures around her—an impossible feat that quickly leaves her head dizzy and aching—and has to actively restrain herself from reaching into the Force, at least until she can figure out a better strategy to handle such a crowded environment.

Once they make it to Spinoza’s hideout—a basement flat underneath a (Resistance-friendly) cantina—they quickly get him and his wife and daughter situated in their crates, and just half an hour after landing on Bespin they are ready to head back to the ship. Of course, that’s when things start to go wrong. Spinoza’s four-year-old daughter, Ellisa, has finally settled into her crate after some words of encouragement from her mother and being granted the comfort and companionship of her favorite blanket and stuffed varactyl, when everyone’s earpieces suddenly crackle to life with Poe’s voice.

 _“I just saw Kylo Ren’s ship.”_  

Nell activates her comm link. “Are you certain?”

 _“I’d recognize that obnoxious design anywhere.”_

“Everything’s fine,” Nell calmly assures after a moment of tense silence, “we just need to move, _now._ ”

And they do.

They are halfway back to the ship when disaster truly strikes.

Ironically enough, it’s not even Kylo Ren or even the First Order. It’s a shootout between two rival death stick suppliers that spills into the street and leads to chaos—half violent free-for-all and half stampede. Rey, who had been at the back of the group, quickly loses sight of the others in the chaos.

A very large man aggressively pushes Rey out of his way and into a nearby brick wall, which Rey hits head-first. The cart she had been pushing, with Ellissa inside, fares no better, and breaks. It only takes Rey seconds to refocus, pushing aside the pain the way Master Luke taught her, but in those seconds Ellissa has managed to disappear.

 _“Rey? Rey?!”_ Rey can barely hear her comm link over the shouts and screams of the crowd. She readjusts her earpiece, hoping that might help. Lowering her hand, she sees it streaked with bright red blood. _That’s not good._ Rey raises her hand to the side of her face and finds it alarmingly wet. _That’s really not good._

 _“Rey!”_

“I’m here, but Ellissa’s gone,” Rey finally answers, looking desperately through the crowd though she knows she won’t be able to see Ellissa even if she is there. Rey would try to locate Ellissa’s force signature in spite of the chaotic crowd, but her head is in such pain even using Master Luke’s management techniques that Rey can hardly form a proper thought, let alone anything else. 

_“What?!”_

“Wait!” Rey says, realizing something very important. “I know where to find her. Go!”

_“Rey—”_

“Trust me.” Rey hopes she sounds more convincing then she feels. She turns off her comm link so it won’t distract her and runs back in the direction of Spinoza’s hideout.

The girl had taken her blanket and toy. She had left with intent. Rey remembers being a little girl, alone and afraid, remembers exactly where she _wanted_ to run, but couldn’t. _Home._  

Rey stumbles down the stairs to the flat, and scrambles to the door. Opening it, she soon spots Ellissa, curled up in a corner, wrapped in her blanket, crying and clutching her varactyl like a lifeline.

“Ellissa,” Rey says, relieved. The little girl jumps, startled, and her eyes widen in fear as she looks at Rey. Rey realizes that she probably looks terrifying, her head wound still bleeding. “It’s just me, Ellissa. I’m here to help you, okay?” Rey holds out her hand.

Thankfully, the girl nods and makes her way over to Rey, though she does hesitate to take Rey’s hand. Rey can hardly blame her.

“Okay. We’ve got to go now.” As soon as Rey says this, she feels a faint pull in her chest. Her blood runs cold. She reaches out in the Force. Even in the sorry state her mind is in, she can identify one blindingly strong, terribly familiar force signature. And it is very, very close. Instead of pulling Ellissa out the door—it’s too late for that—Rey leads them further into the flat, down the hall and into a room that must be Ellissa’s. She pushes Ellissa under the bed and follows after her, leaving Ellissa safely, if uncomfortably, sandwiched between Rey and the wall. Rey knows she’s in a terrible position. Her mobility is severely limited. If they find her, which is admittedly likely—her hiding place isn’t exactly inspired—she’s as good as dead. But if she doesn’t hide, she’s definitely dead. So under the bed it is.

“We must be absolutely silent, okay?” Rey tells Ellissa. She can hear the girl trying to even out her breathing. Rey hears the front door open. Desperately, she reaches back and grabs Ellissa’s arm, sending suggestions of calm through the force. Rey doesn’t like using the Force like this, but she decides their lives are more important. Ellissa’s breathing grows more even, Rey can feel her calming down. Rey struggles to remain equally calm as she hears thudding footsteps growing closer and closer.

 

Kylo is woken in the middle of the night by two stormtroopers and Hux, who tells him they’ve finally found that pesky senator from Bespin. Kylo doesn’t see why _he_ is needed for this particular mission. He suspects Hux is just still pissed about his shoulder, but Hux is always pissed about something. Still, Kylo doesn’t feel like arguing for once, and his nightmares have been particularly bad as of late, so the idea of going back to sleep actually isn’t all that attractive (following the Hux test, Snoke started allowing him to sleep more regularly again).

They are in Cloud City a few short hours later. Approaching the senator’s hideout, Kylo can sense that Spinoza is already gone. But he senses another presence, a familiar shining beacon in the Force, and he has to force down the panic that threatens to rise. _She’s not supposed to be here._ Kylo really isn’t in the mood to fight her today.

As soon as they enter the flat, Kylo notices two things: a second presence in the Force that he had missed because of its proximity to Rey’s, and drops of blood on the floor. The second presence is small and pure—a child. He remembers Hux mentioning that the senator had a young daughter in one of his many reports (that Kylo only ever skimmed through), and the pieces all fit together in his head to form a vague picture.

Kylo sees the two stormtroopers who came with him make their way down the hall. He has to stop them.

He follows the stormtroopers into the child’s bedroom. He can sense Rey and the girl hiding under the bed. Looking carefully, he sees more droplets of blood on the floor. For the first time Kylo is actually somewhat thankful that slightly below average intelligence is a more-or-less prerequisite trait in the stormtrooper selection process, because if either of his companions were any bit shrewd he would have a considerable problem on his hands. Even still, he feels somewhat anxious just standing in the room.

“Lord Ren—” one of the stormtroopers begins to say.

“They’re not here,” Kylo says.

“There’s still the other bedroom, and we could search—”

“I said they’re _not_ here. What part of that do you not understand?”

“Our intelligence confirmed the senator’s presence in this residence only yesterday, Lord Ren.” Suddenly, Kylo is struck by an epiphany as a solution to a long-standing problem suddenly presents itself. Not for the first time, Kylo is thankful for his mask, because the grin that suddenly spreads across his face would be difficult to explain.

“Well clearly he has left since yesterday,” Kylo says icily, “and while you waste my time here, he’s getting further and further away!”

“Yes, Lord Ren.”

“So get out there and find him! I don’t care if he’s in Cloud City or the _southern ice canyons of Mygeeto_ —track him down!”

  

 _He knows I’m here_ , Rey thinks, and knows it’s true, though she has no idea how. _But he’s pretending he doesn’t. Why?_  

“So get out there and find him! I don’t care if he’s in Cloud City or in the southern ice canyons of Mygeeto—track him down!” Kylo shouts. The stormtroopers flinch and hastily depart, no doubt fearing his shouting might escalate into one of his signature tantrums. Kylo pauses, looks around the room one last time, and then leaves, his black cape billowing behind him.

 _Was that a message for me?_ Rey wonders. _Why would he be sending me a message?_ Even in the subpar state her mind is currently in, Kylo Ren’s statement strikes her as decidedly odd. 

But if it was a message for her, Rey has absolutely no idea what it means. She doesn’t think she’s ever even heard of Mygeeto before. _Could it be a trap?_ Theoretically she supposes it’s possible, but it would make no sense. She’s laying flat on her stomach underneath a very low bed, her movement severely restricted—completely vulnerable. If he wanted her, dead or alive, he could have had her. He didn’t need to set a trap. Did he? Rey can’t be quite certain any more, about that or anything else. Her mind is fuzzy, growing dim around the edges. 

 _Maybe Master Luke will know_ , Rey thinks, before everything fades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, plot! Things are *finally* moving! Woo-hoo! 
> 
> I was finishing up this chapter in the living room while my mother was binge-watching Law and Order: SVU when suddenly she turned to me and asked, "isn't that your guy?". Sure enough, it was Adam Driver playing a super-creepy stalker. I'm not saying it's fate, but...
> 
> While this fic has already established itself in strictly non-incest territory on the Reylo front, I couldn't help but give someone a cousin. I'm hesitant about adding OCs, but I need more characters for some later plot points than current canon provides (especially since I'm not familiar with any of the new books/comics), but I'm trying to keep everything as in canon as possible. Most of the names, for example, are pieced together from names of minor characters belonging to the old extended universe. I also try to keep other various details in canon—Ellissa's stuffed toy is a varactyl, which is that giant feathery lizard creature that Obi-Wan rides in Revenge of the Sith. I was a kid when the prequel trilogy came out, and I remember thinking the varactyl was so cool and that I would totally want a miniature one for a pet. 
> 
> Next Time: Back to D'Qar. Also, the identity of our Cloud City informant is revealed...


	6. do you ever think of me?

_“The chief of all, of course, is that miserable fear of being sentimental, which is the meanest of all the modern terrors.”_  
-G. K. Chesterton

Rey feels like she is underwater. Sound fades in and out. She cannot focus on anything.

“Rey? Rey! Come on, Rey!” _What is Poe doing here? Where is_ here, _again?_

“Look at me, Rey!”

Rey tries. 

“I’m going to pull you out, okay?”

_Okay._

Rey fades out again.

She comes to for a brief moment when Poe is strapping her in to her seat. Rey doesn’t know where he got the ship—it’s clearly not the X-wing. Her mind is consumed by one thought, and one thought only. _Southern ice canyons of Mygeeto. Musn’t forget._

“What?” Poe asks. Had she said that aloud? _Actually, that’s a good idea._ Rey grabs ahold of Poe’s shirt to make sure he can’t walk away.

“Southern ice canyons of Mygeeto. Don’t let me forget.”

“Seven Sith hells, Rey, how hard did you hit your head?”

“Southern ice canyons of Mygeeto. You’ve got to remind me. _Promise me_ you’ll remind me.” Rey knows Poe will keep his word. It doesn’t matter if he thinks she’s insane. She just needs to get him to say it, and quickly, too—things are beginning to grow hazy again. 

“All right. Fine. I promise.” Sufficiently assured, Rey releases his shirt and quickly falls unconscious once more.

 

The next time Rey wakes up, it sticks. She recognizes the room she is in even though she has never seen it from this particular angle before: the med bay of the D’Qar Resistance base. Her head still hurts, among other things, but nothing like it was before, and all her senses seem to be functioning normally once more. She moves to sit up.

“Rey!” Rey jumps, startled. She’s still at least a little out of it, clearly. She hadn’t noticed Finn, sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair in the corner—and Rey would know, she had sat in the very same one four months ago, waiting for Finn to wake up. Of course, she was gone before Finn woke up. Rey just hopes he didn’t wake up alone, even if she wasn’t there.

“How long?” Rey asks. Her mouth is a little dry, but not unbearably so. She doesn’t think it’s been too long, but still. She needs to know.

“Just overnight. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been worse.” It’s the truth.

“Let me just get the doctor.”

Finn returns not a minute later with the doctor, a no-nonsense woman Rey would guess to be around the same age as General Organa. Rey has seen her before, but she can’t remember her name. The doctor— _Dr. Kalonia_ , she introduces, much to Rey’s relief—tells Rey the details of her condition—head trauma, bruising, considerable blood loss—as well as her treatment, handing her a bottle of pills for the pain and a tube of a bacta ointment to be applied to her head wound twice daily. Rey takes what she is given and nods. She is strictly prohibited from strenuous physical activity and alcohol and instructed to return to the med bay in three days for a follow-up and to have her stitches removed. Dr. Kalonia asks Rey to repeat everything she has said back to her, so Rey does. Rey figures she must have done it right because Dr. Kalonia gives a quick nod and then leaves.

“She scares me,” Finn whispers as soon as Dr. Kalonia leaves. Rey shakes her head, amused. 

“Where am I staying? Not here, I hope?” Rey knows she needs to be getting back to the Island, but she’s not exactly upset about having to stay on D’Qar for a few days. She doesn’t think Luke will be too upset over the delay—doctor’s orders, and all that.

“Nah, the General’s got you in the guest quarters. New clothes, too, and she’s getting your robes fixed up and everything.” Rey looks down and sees she is wearing scrubs. “She and the senator are really going all out.”

_Senator Spinoza. Ellissa!_

“The senator’s daughter! What happened? Is she—” 

“She’s here. Safe. A little bruised but otherwise okay. You’ve got yourself a pretty big fan. Multiple, actually—Ellissa told her parents how you saved her. Long story short, the whole family loves you now.”

_I shoved her under a bed and used the Force to calm her down,_ Rey thinks. _Hardly rescue of the year._ But what Rey says is, “oh.”

“Yeah. You’re totally a guest of honor tonight.”

“Wait, what?” Finn’s managed to completely lose her. 

“Oh, right! Yes! They’re having a big party tonight to welcome Spinoza,” Finn says. “I probably should have started with that.”

_Yes, that would have helped,_ Rey thinks, but says, “Party?”

Rey concludes she is decidedly not at her best. Mentally, verbally, or physically. The last one is technically an assumption, considering she hasn’t seen a mirror since well before Bespin, but she feels it’s a safe bet.

“Yeah. People are really excited.” Rey can tell Finn is clearly one of those people. She’s not sure where she stands on the matter. Her time at the D’Qar base after Starkiller was brief, and several months ago. D’Qar base, at least according to what she has gathered from Finn and Poe, has more than doubled in size since then. Rey has never been to a party before—there was a huge celebration after the destruction of Starkiller base, but Rey had been in far too much emotional turmoil to even leave the temporary bunk she had been assigned, not to mention go to a party. How could she even think about celebrating when Han had died just hours before? 

“You don’t have to go, you know,” Finn tells her, seeing her obvious hesitation. “I mean, you’re still recovering. No one would hold it against you.”

“No, I’ll go,” Rey says, though she has no idea why. “But I’ve never been to a party before.” 

Finn shrugs. “Come with Poe and me. Poe’s a pro at these sort of things.” Rey can believe that. “And you’re not alone. I’ve never been to a party that wasn’t just a dozen people and a bottle of booze.” 

Dr. Kalonia pops her head in suddenly. “No drinking!” she reminds them, sternly, before disappearing once more. 

Rey is impressed.

 Finn looks mildly terrified. “She _scares_ me.”

 

The guest quarters are more luxurious than anything Rey has ever seen in her life. She flops down on the enormous bed and then realizes she’s made a terrible mistake, because now she _never_ wants to leave. She didn’t know anything could be so soft. She hasn’t finished exploring all the rooms— _rooms_ , she has _multiple rooms,_ all to herself—and she should probably shower, and change, and her hair must be an absolute mess, and she should probably report somewhere, and…

Rey is woken up by someone knocking at the door. The room is dark. It takes her a moment to remember where she is. _Sithspit._ “Just a moment!”

She stands and fumbles around in the dim room for a bit before finally finding the light control panel.

She hurries to answer the door. Poe is waiting patiently on the other side, twiddling his thumbs. He’s not wearing his typical uniform, but a much more formal suit that still screams “military”. His hair is gelled and combed and his face is freshly shaved. He even smells nice. In short, the exact opposite of Rey.

Poe laughs when he sees her.

“So, Rey. Ready to go?” he jokes.

“Kriff! The party!”

“You fell asleep, didn’t you?” Poe asks. 

Rey scowls. 

“Luckily for you, I anticipated this,” Poe says, welcoming himself inside. “You’ll be happy to hear the party doesn’t start for two more hours.” He looks around the room and whistles. “Nice place.”

“Thank you,” Rey says, relieved.

“Oh also, before I forget: you told me to remind you about the southern ice canyons of Mygeeto. You know, back when I found you. You were pretty insistent,” Poe says. “Does that mean anything to you?” 

“Yes. Thank you.” She had forgotten. “I would tell you, Poe, but—”

Poe waves her off. “I understand, Rey.”

Rey smiles gratefully. Still feeling overwhelmed, she decides to focus on one thing at a time. _First things first, a shower._ But before going to the ‘fresher, she needs clothes. She opens a few doors before finally finding the closet. And then she gasps. Because the closet is _full_ of clothes. And shoes.

Rey has never owned more than three outfits at any one time, and none of them were _anything_ like this. At one point she had had two pairs of shoes that both fit, and had thought that was as good as it got. There are five pairs of shoes in this closet, all shiny and new.

Seeing her staring dumbly into the closet, Poe comes over to investigate. “Wow, nice stuff.”

“It’s too much,” Rey finally says. “I don’t need them all. When would I even wear them, after tonight?” She sees two standard Resistance uniforms and a new robe, similar to her old one, only far nicer. Some basic pants and tunics. But beyond that, dresses and skirts and other items that have no business being in the closet of a Jedi padawan.

“It’s okay, you know,” Poe says. “To enjoy having nice things. To _have_ nice things.”

Rey says nothing.

“It’s a gift, Rey. General Organa and Senator Spinoza want you to have these things. You can be happy about it.”

Rey pulls out a long pale blue dress with a yellow sash. She puts it back and grabs another hanger. A short, silver dress with long sleeves.

They are some of the prettiest things Rey has ever seen. 

“What should I wear?” Rey asks quietly, completely lost.

“Here’s an idea: you go take a shower, and I’ll pick something out,” Poe suggests. “Two things, so you have a choice. Okay?”

Rey nods. “Thank you, Poe.”

“Any time, Rey.” 

Poe has good taste. At least, Rey thinks so. She doesn’t know the slightest thing about fashion, so she can’t be sure. She feels clean and wonderful now, wrapped in a fluffy white robe, though combing her hair hadn’t exactly done wonders for the pain in her head. Rey took one of Dr. Kalonia’s pain pills, but she is still waiting for it to kick in.

In the end, Rey ends up choosing the pale blue dress that had caught her eye when she first looked in the closet. Poe had also selected a matching pair of shoes and some jewelry. Once fully dressed, Rey frets over her hair for a moment before deciding that leaving it down will just have to do, as her usual triple bun seems a little too casual for the occasion.

Clothes? Check. Shoes? Check. Jewelry? Check. Hair? Well, it will have to do. There is just one thing left: makeup. Rey sits at the vanity and stares at the various brushes and bottles and tubes, trying to pretend that she knows what she’s doing. She finally picks up the tube labeled mascara, which she remembers is for eyelashes (though she can’t remember who told her that). It can’t be that hard, right? Rey twists it open. 

The wand is millimeters away from her eyelashes when Poe suddenly blurts out, “that’s not how you do it!” 

Rey pauses, unsure of how to respond. 

“Would you mind if I…?” Poe asks, gesturing towards the mascara. Rey hands it over gratefully. Poe applies the mascara, instructing Rey to blink at certain times or tilt her head a particular way.

“How do you know how to do this?” Rey asks, admiring his handiwork in the mirror.

“Nell,” Poe answers simply, before elaborating: “She always wanted to play dress-up, but there weren’t really any other girls around. There was me, however, and, being the awesome cousin I am, I sometimes generously offered to join her.” 

“She strong-armed you into it, didn’t she?”

“Oh yeah.”

Rey smiles at that, imagining a much younger Nell bossing around an equally young Poe.

“She wouldn’t have happened to have taught you anything about any of this, would she?” Rey asks hopefully, gesturing to the rest of the cosmetics in front of her.

Poe lets out an exaggerated sigh. “The things I do for my friends.”

 

When they arrive the party is already in full swing, but Poe assures her that’s perfectly fine (“fashionably late” are his exact words, with a wink). Sure enough, no one seems at all upset by their late arrival.

Rey (almost, sort of) feels like she belongs. Or, at least, she feels that she _looks like_ she (almost, sort of) belongs. But really, she has no idea what she’s doing. At all. And she never thought she would think this, but she would rather be Force-fishing or eating Master Luke’s gruel.

Senator Spinoza and his wife shower her with praise and thanks and Rey feels incredibly uncomfortable. She feels like she should be doing more than saying “thank you” and looking bashfully at her feet, but considering that what she really wants to do is run back to her quiet, dark room and sleep for the next standard month, she thinks she is actually handling the situation pretty well.

Ellissa runs up and gives Rey a hug. Rey isn’t quite sure how one is supposed to go about hugging such a little person so she just settles for gently patting Ellissa’s back as the little girl clings to her leg like a suckerfish. It’s awkward but Rey gets a little teary-eyed nonetheless. She has now been hugged by all of four people in her life: Finn, General Organa, Poe, and Ellissa Spinoza (Chewie’s “hugs” are better categorized as near-death experiences, and Master Luke is more of a gentle pat on the shoulder sort of guy). Like everything else about Rey’s social life, it is both pathetic and sad, but four is slightly less pathetic and sad than three.

Rey says hello to General Organa and Chewie and a handful of people she remembers from her first visit to D’Qar. She talks with Poe and Finn for a little while. 

But it all quickly wears her out—the newness, the constant noise and movement and overwhelming presence of all the people swarming around—and Rey finds herself retiring to one of the tables at the edge of the room after less than two hours of conversing. Large crowds drain her energy, and Rey suspects that only some of this has to do with her Force sensitivity. It’s just one more thing she will have to ask Master Luke about when she goes back to the Island.

Rey is caught up in thought, and doesn’t realize someone is approaching until they sit down next to her.

It is the informant from Cloud City. Her curly hair has somehow been relaxed into looser waves and elegantly pinned. Her jewelry and makeup and shoes all complement her green dress, which in turn complements her eyes. She looks remarkably at ease with the jewels, the makeup, the general luxury—the sort of ease that only comes with time and practice, and even then only to some. Rey can’t help but feel a little jealous.

“We’ve never been properly introduced,” the informant greets, holding out a hand. The other is occupied by a drink of some sort. “My name is Calistrata Calrissian, but call me Cal.”

“Rey,” Rey says, shaking Cal’s hand. “Just Rey, I’m afraid. Nothing else to add.” 

“Calistrata Calrissian may be longer, but I wouldn’t say it’s better,” Cal says. “Unfortunately, Calistrata is a tradition on my mother’s side, and my father didn’t exactly choose Calrissian. My mother did choose my father though, so I suppose if I had to blame one person it would be her. Then again, they bet on who got to name me and my father lost, so…” 

Rey nods. She doesn’t really have much to offer on the subject of mothers and fathers and names and family. 

They sit in silence for a little while. It is somewhat awkward, but still companionable.

“I don’t mean to be rude and I know you don’t really know me, so please don’t feel obligated to answer, but, did you see him?” Cal says suddenly, after taking a long drink. Rey doesn’t know much about alcohol, but from the ruby red color Rey suspects it’s some sort of wine. “B—Kylo Ren?”

“Just his boots, really, this time. Ellissa and I were hiding under a bed,” Rey says, not quite sure what Cal wants to know, or why.

“But, before. On Starkiller. You saw him, right? Talked to him?”

Rey says nothing. She doesn’t want to relieve the most traumatic few days of her life, and is frankly irritated that a near stranger would even ask her to.

“I’m sorry, forget I said anything,” Cal apologizes after a few moments. “It was wrong of me to ask—and at a party, too. What a bag of laughs I am.”

They sit in silence again for a little while.

“We grew up together,” Cal says, eventually, feeling that she owes Rey an explanation. “My father Lando is— _was_ —a good friend of Han Solo’s, and my older brother Chance is only a year younger than Ben. We would see him all the time—both of his parents had to travel a lot, and their jobs weren’t exactly safe, so Ben would stay with us. Sometimes for two or three weeks at a time. Even after he started training to be a Jedi, I would see him—Luke Skywalker gave his students several breaks over the course of a year so they could visit their families, but I imagine you probably knew that already?” 

Actually Rey hadn’t, because Luke rarely said anything about his failed Jedi Academy—she suspected it was too painful, and Rey didn’t think it so important as to try to wheedle into talking—but decides to just let Cal continue instead of saying anything. “The last time I saw Ben Solo was just six weeks before the massacre,” Cal says, quietly. “He told me he would ‘see me again soon’ and ruffled my hair. I always used to act like I hated it when he did that, but I didn’t. Not really.”

Rey listens eagerly. She knows this will probably only worsen her near-obsession with Kylo Ren, the man who was Ben Solo, but having some answers instead of just questions is wonderfully refreshing, even if those answers inspire a host of new questions.

“Chance always had a lot of friends over. Being the little sister, I was always following them around. Most of my childhood involved chasing after Chance and his friends, begging them to let me tag along, to wait for me. And Ben was the only one who ever would.” Cal’s eyes are glossy at this point, unfocused, lost in memories and other things Rey can’t see. “Now everyone acts like they knew it would happen. Like it was inevitable that he would become this monster. ‘Such a shame, but he was so unstable, it was only a matter of time, in retrospect,’ they say now. They point to his temper, his love of Darth Vader, and say they were signs; proof that Ben was inherently evil. It’s like having once been his friend is some terrible crime, so they lie. Because it’s a lie, all of it. Yes, Ben had a temper. So do most boys. He never loved Darth Vader, he loved Anakin Skywalker, just like his uncle. And you know what? He also loved hotcakes and cloudberries and swimming and sleeping in late. He had a pet pittin named Puff which he loved dearly and gave to me before leaving to train with his uncle because he didn’t trust his parents to take care of her and knew that I would. After we heard about what had happened, about what Ben had become, Chance wanted to throw Puff off the edge of Cloud City. I wouldn’t let him. Worst fight we’ve ever had. I got a special carrier and carried Puff with me everywhere, because I knew if I let her out of my sight Chance was liable to drown her in a bucket—told me so himself.”

“What happened?” Rey asks. She has never seen a pittin before, but she is imagining something cute and small and furry.

“To Puff? She’s still alive—ancient and crotchety as a Loth-cat, but alive. In my quarters right now, probably asleep on the softest thing she could find.” _Sounds like a clever animal_ , Rey thinks. “It was one of my conditions. The Resistance smuggled her here from Bespin a few days before you lot got to Cloud City. And my brother? Still a bantha rear, unfortunately, but also my brother. You don’t have to like someone to love them, you know, and I like my brother best with a few systems between us. He’s in Corellia now. Or maybe Coruscant? Can’t really remember, don’t really care, to be honest.” 

Rey does not doubt Cal’s sincerity. She does, however, sincerely doubt that the now-empty glass in Cal’s hand is her first of the night.

“When Chance was being particularly mean I would ask him why he couldn’t be nice like Ben. Chance would respond by teasing me, saying I had a huge crush on Ben—I did, by the way—and threatening to tell him about it.”

A waiter carrying a tray of drinks walks by and Cal flags him down. She takes a new glass—of what, Rey has no idea, but it’s clear with a slight orange-pink tint and bubbly, served in a tall, narrow flute—gracefully exchanging it for her now empty one. She kindly thanks the waiter with a smile that shows off her incredibly perfect teeth. Based off the exchange, Rey would never even suspect Cal to be inebriated. Of course, Rey is in the middle of hearing her whole life story, more or less, so she knows better.

Rey wonders if she should try to stop her—from drinking more, from sharing more, all of it—but, looking around, she sees people doing things far more embarrassing and generally regrettable than sharing their life stories, and nobody is stopping them, so Rey doesn’t. But that’s not why she doesn’t stop Cal. No, the real reason Rey doesn’t stop Cal is that she’s curious. She wants to hear more. The reasoning just makes her feel better about it.

 Cal takes a sip of her new beverage. “Blossom wine,” she says appreciatively. “They really are pulling out all the stops.”

“So did he?” Rey asks. If they detour into small talk Rey knows they might never make it out. 

“Hmm?” Rey decides that if Cal can’t remember where they left off then she won’t push the conversation any further. She might not be using the Force, but it still feels too much like breaking into someone’s mind uninvited. As it is, Rey feels a little guilty. It takes a moment, but Cal does remember. “Oh, yes. I mean, no, he didn’t. He came very close a handful of times. Once, Chance actually _said_ something, but he was trying to be clever, so Ben didn’t understand what he meant. You see, the thought of someone _liking_ him just didn’t compute, what, with how mean the other kids were. ‘Big Ears Ben’, they’d tease. I liked those big ears. I think that’s how Snoke got to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t his ‘inner darkness’ or any of that bantha fodder. Ben never particularly liked himself, and Snoke took that and twisted it into hate. And he fed that hate until there was too much of it to be contained, to be directed inward, so it exploded outward,” Cal says. “Or maybe that’s just me in denial. That’s what Chance said it was, you know, when I told him. Do you think he’s right, Rey?”

“I don’t know,” Rey answers honestly.

Cal then changes the subject. Rey listens as attentively as she can to Cal’s detailing of all her brother’s faults (there are many).

A faint throbbing stirs in Rey’s head again, and she realizes more time must have passed than she thought.

“Are you all right?” Cal asks, seeing a slight grimace pass over Rey’s face. While alcohol loosened her tongue, it clearly hadn’t dulled her perceptiveness. Rey admits to the ache in her head, and Cal insists she goes home for the night—but makes her promise to meet up for lunch before she heads back to finish her training.

  

Rey dreams she is in a clearing. But she isn’t alone. She recognizes his presence, but somehow the sight of him, once she turns around, still comes as a surprise. _I really have a problem_ , she thinks. She could almost rationalize thinking about him while awake, but dreaming about him in any other context but a nightmare—that’s a bit harder to justify, even to herself. _Or maybe it’s really him. Maybe he’s invaded my dreams somehow._

“What are you doing here?” Rey asks harshly.

Ben scoffs, barely sparing her a glance. “What am _I_ doing here? We’re in _my_ head. So the real question is, what are _you_ doing here?” 

He sits on a tree stump with his long legs stretched out in front of him, only sparing a brief glance in her direction. He wears robes not unlike Master Luke’s, but slate grey with a black leather vest and boots. She had imagined his face as she had last seen it, split grotesquely in two, but instead there is just a faint scar running diagonally from his temple to his jaw, barely visible in places and only truly noticeable where it cuts through his brow.

“Why would I ever believe you? I’m not the one with a habit of forcing myself into peoples’ minds,” Rey spits. 

Ben doesn’t say anything, he just raises an eyebrow and looks at her. He doesn’t have to say anything, because they both know that that isn’t entirely true. Rey looks away, embarrassed. 

“Do you know this place?” Ben asks. 

“No,” Rey says. She certainly wishes she did, though. It’s beautiful and green and peaceful. A gentle breeze whistles through the trees that surround the clearing. “It’s just a dream.”

“Yes, but this place isn’t. It’s a memory. Mine, to be specific,” Ben says. He then points west, where Rey can see a well-worn pathway leading through the trees to some unknown destination. “You follow that for about half a mile, you’ll reach a house. We lived there nearly four years—longest time we stayed anywhere. It felt like home, almost.”

“What happened?” 

“They sent me off to be a Jedi.” Ben’s smirk is entirely unconvincing and he can’t even be bothered maintaining it for more than a few seconds. It’s not like he’s fooling anyone, after all.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Rey says, eternally suspicious.

“Originally I was proving a point. I suppose I got carried away.” 

“Maybe this isn’t some weird Force thing. Maybe it’s a normal dream, and I’m just imagining you.” _Yes, that makes the most sense,_ Rey decides, now that she’s talked to him. “You’re not the real him. You can’t be, you’re too…” _Nice. Likeable. Even more attractive than I remembered._ “…calm.”

“Calm? What, because I’m not trying to kill you?” Ben smirks. It’s completely genuine this time—and painfully familiar to Rey, because it’s Han Solo’s smirk. She sees it now, the resemblance. She wonders how she missed it before. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but we’re in my head—or yours, I suppose, since you seem insistent on denying my existence—so it’s not like it would do me any good.” Ben lies down on the grass and looks up at the clouds, entirely at ease. “So, to go back to the original question, _Rey_ ”—Rey doesn’t think she’s ever heard him say her name before, and the sound of it makes her feel strange, and not in an unpleasant way, which is even stranger—“what are _you_ doing _here_?”

“Having a very strange dream.” _I took another one of those pills before bed, and I was talking with Cal about ~~Ben~~ Kylo Ren for all that time, _ Rey thinks. _It makes perfect sense._

Ben laughs as if she’s told him a joke. “You’ve really convinced yourself, haven’t you? So stubborn.”

Ben continues to chuckle and Rey can’t take it any more. “What?!”

“What?” Ben asks innocently.

“What aren’t you telling me?” 

“I thought I _was_ you,” Ben teases. “Figment of your imagination and all that. Tell me, Rey, do you dream of me often?”

“If you’re a figment of my imagination, I don’t need to tell you,” Rey snaps.

_Touché,_ Ben thinks, oddly pleased.

“You want to know what’s funny?”

“What?” Rey knows a trap when she sees one, but she takes the bait anyway. She suspects her curiosity will be her downfall someday, but she can’t help herself. Kylo Ren fascinates her. He has from the beginning, and since then she’s only dug herself a hole, deeper and deeper. There’s no turning back. She wonders if there ever was.

“You see, I know I’m real, and that we’re in _my_ head. I also know that you’re real.”

“How?” Rey demands.

_Because there are two Reys I see in my sleep, Nightmare Rey and Dream Rey. Nightmare Rey would have run screaming a long time ago, and Dream Rey wouldn’t be standing all the way over there, glaring at me. Therefore, Real Rey._ “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Rey huffs.

“And that’s the really funny part. Regardless of whether we’re in your head or mine, regardless of whether I’m even real or not—I am, by the way, but I know there’s no way of convincing you so I’m not even going to try—you have no idea _why_.” 

“And you do?” Rey challenges.

“I have some ideas.”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“You’re not ready yet.” 

“You don’t know me.” 

“I know you better than you think,” Ben says. “Certainly better than you know me.”

“I don’t want to know you,” Rey argues.

“You don’t have to do that here, you know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“No one can see us here. Not the First Order, not the Resistance. We don’t have to fight. We can just enjoy the quiet for a moment. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“What about your Supreme Leader?” Rey challenges.

“If he were in my head, I would know it. He’s subtle about some things, but that is not one of them.” He says it casually, but there is an undeniable stiffness there, and Rey wonders not for the first time why anyone would choose to serve a master as cruel as Snoke. _Power_ , he had told her, but what good was power when you were little more than a slave? 

Rey has a hundred questions, standing there. _Why didn’t you kill me on Bespin? Why did you lie? Why do I feel so connected to you?_  

But she says none of these things. She says nothing at all, and neither does Ben. She just lies down on the soft grass a safe distance away and copies him, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. Rey doesn’t know what this is—dream, nightmare, something else entirely—but she cannot deny there is something surprisingly peaceful about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *taps microphone* Hello? Is anybody still here? I have had absolutely no time for non-academic writing since winter break, which has been terrible, because the barrage of Reylo plot bunnies is endless. They come from everywhere: 
> 
> Television: Game of Thrones role-swapped Gendrya AU, anybody? Or how about an Olicity AU?   
> Film: Metropolis. Sir Arne's Treasure. The Lady Vanishes. Am I the only one who sees these things?  
> Literature: If I saw a Reylo AU of Dumas' "The Black Tulip" I think I would cry from happiness (and on that note, has anyone else even read that book? Because you should, it's awesome.)  
> Music: Don't even get me started. I have playlists. A particular favorite, though, is how just about every single song on Brandon Flowers' "The Desired Effect" could apply to Reylo (I mean, Kylo characterizations could basically be measured on a scale from "Can't Deny My Love" to "I Can Change"). 
> 
> Seriously, though, if anyone is inspired by any of these, please take them. Also, if anyone is in need of prompts, please contact me. I have a small army of ideas in need of good homes and I do not have the time/writing speed to accommodate most of them. 
> 
> So, I am still very much working on this fic and "Heirs to the Glimmering World", it just might be quite awhile before a new update is seen for either one (but I am working on it, promise!)


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